


The Ettarde Incident

by Reynier



Series: Caffè Arturiano [2]
Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Misunderstandings, and his pronouns to she/her, god this was so hard for me to write, i had to switch gawain's name to Jennifer like the avalon high character, in order to write the scene with him and ettarde, that how bad i am at writing romance involving men alksdjflksdf, the pelleas and ettarde incident retold in the coffeeshop verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier
Summary: Fortunately, Pelleas wasn’t paying any attention to him either. “Ever since I found out Ettarde went to the gym,” he said, “I just thought she was so special. And she’s artistic too. Did you know we both like Bastille? We have so much in common.”“Yes,” said Galahad, who still wasn’t listening but had a collection of ready-to-use responses for any situation, “like sin.”
Relationships: Ettarde/Gawain
Series: Caffè Arturiano [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017424
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21
Collections: Arthurian_Server_Squad





	The Ettarde Incident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/gifts).



> i asked lou what the pelleas and ettarde story line would look like in Coffeeshop and he just spouted half the plot of this fic off the top of his head so uh here you go. this is set a couple of years before Lionheart Coffee Co.! <3  
> also apparently i'm absolutely incapable of writing any romance scene that isn't entirely sex jokes or Dramatic Lesbian Pining so. sorry ettarde and gawain can't talk like actual humans.

“She’s just… so nice,” said Pelleas, drooped across a chair in the corner and making a mediocre attempt at not objectifying women. “She’s really just special. She’s not like any other girl I’ve ever talked to.”

Galahad hummed sympathetically. He wasn’t listening. He had his earbuds in and was listening to _Saint François d’Assise._ If asked, he would have said it was musically innovative. He had a long explanation prepared about how avantgarde it was, and how it had influenced him theologically. No one ever asked. 

“And, like, I just think she has the prettiest hair ever. It’s so… hairy.” 

“Like a camel,” said Galahad, who had only processed the word “hairy” and made a valiant stab at filling in the blanks. _Etouffez-le,_ he repeated to himself, utterly absorbed in the opera, _étouffez-le en couronnes, étouffez-le en musique._ He felt a frisson of je ne sais quoi which he attributed to musical appreciation. 

Fortunately, Pelleas wasn’t paying any attention to him either. “Ever since I found out she went to the gym,” he said, “I just thought she was so special. And she’s artistic too. Did you know we both like Bastille? We have so much in common.”

“Yes,” said Galahad, who still wasn’t listening but had a collection of ready-to-use responses for any situation, “like sin.”

“Sin,” sighed Pelleas, who didn’t know Galahad well enough to realise he wasn’t joking. The two of them shared a Methods in Writing class, and Pelleas assumed that was enough common ground to justify hijacking Galahad’s table in the local coffee shop. _Lionheart Coffee Co._ was a new addition to the university boulevard, but already it had attracted a sizeable crowd from the more esoteric student population-- particularly those who were afraid of going across the street to _Fleurs de Liberthé_ , either because they were allergic to flowers or the French. Galahad was French, but no one held it against him. It was more his personality that put people off. “What is the bartender’s name again?”

“They’re not bartenders,” Galahad corrected. He forced himself to pause the music. “They’re baristas. There is no alcohol served in this establishment. And which one?”

“What do you mean which one?” Pelleas gestured at the counter, where a short brunet man in an apron was staring at his phone, bored. “There’s just that one. The one with curly hair.”

Galahad stared at him. “There are five with curly hair. Gawain, Aggravaine, Gaheris, Mordred. They’re all brothers.”

“They’re _brothers_?” squeaked Pelleas. “What? I thought there was just one.”

“They don’t look anything alike. Why would there only be one barista?”

“Because it’s a small shop!” The door behind the cashier opened and another brunet in an apron emerged. Aside from that he had no similarities with the other man; he was wearing too much eyeliner and a Steeleye Span T-Shirt. Pelleas found himself reluctantly confronting the reality that there were in fact multiple baristas. “So which one is the hot one?”

Galahad didn’t look up. “Aggravaine,” he said, and if something like an evil smirk crossed his face, Pelleas didn’t notice. 

“That’s him, then,” said Pelleas, slamming a hand down on the table. “That’s who I need help from. Ettarde stares at him all the time. One time I saw her _smile_ at him.”

“Heretical,” said Galahad disapprovingly. 

“So what’s his name again?”

“Aggravaine Orkney,” said Galahad, and angels would have looked guilty next to his smile. 

  


“I’m looking for Aggravaine Orkney,” said Pelleas, standing in front of the cash register and crossing his arms. 

“You are?” said the barista in front of him, uncertainly. “Really?”

“Yes,” Pelleas said, “I want to pay him.”

The punk leaned over and squinted at him. “You do? Why? What for?”

“Never mind that.” Pelleas squirmed a bit. “Is he here?”

“Uhh… not right now,” said the older-looking one, giving him a look which Pelleas was too self-absorbed and -important to notice. “I can text him if you like?”

“No! No.” Pelleas put out a hand. “Could you give me his number or something? I need to talk to him.”

“You want Aggravaine’s number,” the punk repeated. 

“Yes.”

“Just to check, you want Aggravaine Orkney’s number?”

“Yes.” Pelleas frowned. “Not in, like, a romantic way. I need to offer him a job.”

“God,” said the older, “okay. Uhh…. let me find a post-it note. Yeah. Here you go.”

Pelleas took it. “Thanks,” he said. “Peace out.”

  


It wasn’t even midnight yet, and he hadn’t had anything to drink, but Aggravaine was confused. There was an anonymous number texting him. Furthermore, there was an anonymous number texting him pickup lines. 

UNKNOWN: _Are you Aggravaine? The handsome Orkney brother?_

He stared at it. Was he? Was he the handsome Orkney brother? He didn’t think so. But whoever the anonymous texter was seemed to think so-- perhaps he had a secret admirer. People had secret admirers all the time. Well, Gawain did, and there was no standard to which Aggravaine held himself more fiercely than that of his elder brother. 

ME: _Yeah_

UNKNOWN: _Great. I have a favour to ask you._

ME: _Yeah?_

“What are you grinning at?” came Gawain’s voice from across the living room. He was lying with his bottom half on the couch and his head on the floor, trying to successfully chopstick cup-a-noodles into his mouth upside down. 

“What?” said Aggravaine. “I mean, shut up.”

“Shan’t,” said Gawain. He slurped more noodles into his mouth. “Did you bully another newbie in Forkcraft?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Aggravaine scowled at him, then looked back down at his phone. 

UNKNOWN: _So I’ve got a crush._

“No, seriously,” snickered Gawain, “what’s up with you? You just choked a little, I can tell. And now you’re bright red. What’s up? Did a puppy die somewhere?”

“No,” he snapped. “If you really want to know, someone has a crush on me. Happy now?”

There was no response for some time. Then the cup-a-noodles began to shake, and Aggravaine realised his brother was laughing. “You? Really?”

The world shrunk a little bit. He felt as though he should have gotten made, but he didn’t. Abominably, all he did was tear up. “Yes. They’re texting me.”

“Now this,” said Gawain, sliding to the floor and pushing himself upright, “I have to see. Come on, where’s the evidence?”

Aggravaine passed his phone over mutely, his face burning. “There. See for yourself.”

Gawain took the phone and perused the messages, but to Aggravaine’s chagrin his face did not transmute into appreciation or love or support, or any of the things he so desperately craved. Instead, he burst into laughter. “Did you read the latest message?” he asked. 

“What?” Grabbing the phone back, Aggravaine scrolled down. 

UNKNOWN: _Her name is Ettarde and she’s really hot._

“Oh,” he said numbly, after a moment. “Still. He called me the handsome Orkney brother.”

“Yeah, small victories, I guess,” said Gawain, trotting back over to the couch. “But like, what’s the point of a nice sword hilt if the blade isn’t sharp?”

It took everything in Aggravaine not to throw the phone at him. Instead he grabbed his things in a silent fury and stormed off to his room, slamming the door on the way. 

“Hey, I’m just joking!” yelled Gawain after him. “You know I’m joking, right?”

Inside his room, Aggravaine flopped down on his bed, tears stinging his eyes. He was never enough. He would never be enough. It was so easy to be confident when you were popular and gregarious and knew how to talk to people so they looked at you with that special interest. Not that Aggravaine actually wanted what came after it-- that was all a bit overwhelming, and not something he felt ready to deal with-- but having the option would have been nice. Even if he turned it down. 

He stared back at his phone. “Fuck you,” he whispered, “fuck you very much.” And he blocked the number. 

  


Aggravaine Orkney might have blocked him, but Pelleas wasn’t about to give up that quickly. The next morning he strolled back into _Lionheart Coffe Co._ , ready to flatter where he could and bribe where he couldn’t. Ettarde was at her usual table, studying something on her cute little laptop, but he ignored her in favour of Aggravaine the Handsome Orkney, who luckily was lounging behind the cash register. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing the edge of the register. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but hear me out, I need you.”

Gawain-- who had not been invested enough in Aggravaine’s adventures of the night before to make any of the connections he should have made-- raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the counter. “You do?”

“Please, man,” begged Pelleas. “I’m really hopeless with girls.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” noted Gawain, who was not a morning person and had a very different understanding of the conversation than Pelleas did. 

“Really? So you’ll do it?” A light was shining through the canopy of clouds that was Pelleas’ life. 

“Uh… what’s _it_ , exactly?” Gawain asked, more out of curiosity than caution. 

“Give her--” Pelleas spun and pointed dramatically across the room at Ettarde, who was too busy watching vine compilations to notice-- “my number? On a coffee cup?”

The groggy gears of Gawain’s brain finally jolted into the correct alignment, and he made a quick mental assessment which consisted of measuring Pelleas against the young woman at the corner table and finding no marks to put in the Pelleas column. “Absolutely,” he said, smiling a smile that anyone who knew him would have run from, “but what do I get out of this?”

Pelleas slammed five twenties down in front of him. “One hundred,” he said. “All yours.”

“Uh-huh.” The money disappeared somewhere into Gawain’s apron. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a date.”

Pelleas beamed, and returned to Galahad’s table to annoy him. 

  


As it happened, the women in the corner came back to the counter for a second coffee that day. Up close, Gawain definitely recognised her. “Hey,” he said, tapping his sharpie against the side of his chin. “How can I help you?”

She hummed. “I’ve had too much caffeine, probably.”

“No such thing as too much caffeine, but we have an excellent array of rooibos if that interests you?”

“It all interests me,” she said faux-mournfully. “What would you recommend?”

Grinning, he grabbed a tin from the shelf behind him and spun it across the counter to her. “Honey vanilla,” he said. “My favourite.”

“Alright, I’ll trust you.” She passed him a fiver and dropped a couple of bills in the tip jar as well. 

“That’ll come right up,” h esaid. “Order for…?”

“Ettarde,” she said, holding out her hand. 

He shook it. “Gawain,” he said, smiling easily. “What’s your major?”

“Environmental Science. But I’m a minor in Nutrition Studies. You?”

“Hey, that’s super cool. I’m just in IR right now. I’m thinking of adding a Gender Studies double major, though."

"Oh, you should go for it! I've heard the program's great."

"That's the hope," he said. "Sorry, hold on-- I’ve got to make your tea. You're super nice, by the way.”

Ettarde laughed. “No worries, I’ll leave you be. Nice to officially meet you!”

“You too,” he said. 

From across the room, Pelleas stewed. It looked fine. It was probably fine. Gawain seemed very nice and very polite and it was a good thing he was on his side. As he watched, he saw Gawain scribble something onto the side of Ettarde’s cup. Then he looked up, caught Pelleas’ eye, and winked. _All going well_ , Pelleas thought. _This might actually work._

  


When Ettarde drifted back over to the counter to pick up her cup, she found an extra addition scrawled on in sharpie. A phone number, and _‘Text me if you like xoxo.’_ She looked up, caught the barista’s eye, and grinned. 

_Nice_ , she thought. 

_Nice,_ thought Gawain. 

_Nice,_ thought Pelleas. 

(Aggravaine, who was an unwitting key player in the situation but was currently moping in a backroom, did not think anything was nice at all.)

  


Gawain got the text about ten minutes after his shift ended. 

UNKNOWN: _Hey, this is Ettarde! Are you free right now?_

He typed back a quick reply and then shoved his belongings into his backpack before heading out the door, grinning at Pelleas on the way out. 

UNKNOWN: _Sure, sounds great. There’s a little garden over on Ginevra St, does that work?_

ME: _Be there in five._

He didn’t notice that Pelleas followed him out of the shop, a small stormcloud of suspicion beginning to mist down over his head.

  


The last twenty-four hours had not been Aggravaine’s favourite. They had started out very well, and then rocked to abject emotional despair, and now this had happened. 

  


_@pelleas_the_beast: yo my homies don’t go to lionheart coffee some asshole named aggravaine orkney stole my fucking girl. I just walked in on them making out in the park. I thought the bro code was real guys but i guess everyone here is just a liar and a fake. Aggravaine orkney if you’re reading this im gonna fucking fight you and im gonna beat you up i really am_

_@minuetlynette replied: wow if you get your girl stolen by AGGRAVAINE you’ve really got it coming lol_

_@not_that_iseult replied: hooooooly shit no way tell us the whole story dude_

_@mor-dead replied: OH_

_@mor_dead replied: SHIT_

_@gerry-er-is replied: LMAO_

_@gareth_orkney replied: Hey, in the interests of defending Aggravaine, I just wanted to let you know that’s not him. That’s our brother Gawain._

  


It was absolutely typical, thought Aggravaine bitterly, just absolutely fucking typical. He didn’t know what he’d expected, honestly. One day… one day they all would see. He’d be happier than any of them one day. Surely Gawain had happiness to spare. 

  


_@pelleas_the_beast: Callout post retracted for aggravaine orkney, idk who the fuck that is. I want to issue two new callout posts: Galahad Clairvaux is a fucking liar and he pranked me. Also Gawain Orkney whoever you are i’m gonna fight you one day so watch your fucking back_

_@minuetlynette replied: pelleas you know we’re in the same room and i can see you crying lol get it together you dipshit_

_@mor-dead replied: OH YEAH YOU SHOULD FIGHT GAWAIN_

_@gerry-er-is replied: YOU COULD DEFINITELY BEAT HIM AND HE DESERVES IT_

_@mor-dead replied: YEAH DO IT COWARD_

_@leottarde replied: No regrets! XOXO <3 Enjoy your life and never talk to me again. _

  


One day, Aggravaine vowed, _I’m_ going to be liked. 

  


Ettarde and Gawain had a very good day. 


End file.
